Child's Play
by AlElizabeth
Summary: Wee!Chester. The brothers go to the park and the good ol' Winchester luck strikes again.


Sam was really starting to annoy Dean.

The younger boy knew the rules, had heard John when he'd told them to stay inside, but still the four-year old whined and mewled and complained.

The eight-year old sighed and rolled his eyes away from the television screen where an episode of _The Raccoons_ was playing.

"We can't go out," Dean growled, "So stop crying about it."

Sammy, who was peering through the motel room's window at the park across the street, sniffed and turned to peer at his brother.

"I don't want to go far away," the little boy insisted, "I just want to swing on the swings."

Dean turned back to the TV screen, "Well, you can't."

After a moment or two, and after a quick glance from the corner of his eye, the eight-year old saw his brother was still standing on the tips of his toes, staring out the window.

Sighing, the boy grabbed the television remote and turned the set off. His little brother peered over his shoulder and Dean felt bad when he noticed Sammy's eyes were red-rimmed and puffy.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean said and slid off the bed, "You win; we'll go out to the park."

"Really?" the four-year old asked and his brother nodded.

"Yay!" Sammy exclaimed and hurried towards his sibling, throwing his arms around the older boy in a tight hug.

"We're only going out for a little while, okay? We can't be out too long," Dean told the younger boy as he picked up Sammy's shoes.

"C'mon and let's put your shoes on," he told Sammy and the boy promptly dropped down onto his bum and held his hands out.

"I can do it, Dean," the four-year old told his sibling matter-of-factly, "Ms. Rosen taught us all how to do up the Velcro."

The eight-year old frowned for a moment, wondering whom Ms. Rosen was until he recalled the Kindergarten teacher Sam had had before they'd moved onto this town.

"Why didn't you tell Dad you could do your own shoes up when he was putting them on for you this morning when we went out for breakfast?" Dean asked out of curiosity.

Sammy, who had his right shoe on his left foot- but had indeed secured the Velcro straps himself- shrugged.

"Daddy was in a hurry," the boy replied quietly.

"But I'm sure he'd be happy to know you can put your shoes on by yourself," Dean told his brother, tying the laces on his own sneakers as he spoke.

Again, Sammy shrugged but didn't say anything else.

Dean decided not to press the issue and let it go. He knew their Dad could be really intense sometimes and he could understand why that might be a bit scary for a little kid like his brother. Even though Sammy had no reason to be afraid of their Dad; John would never hurt either of them. But he could get angry quickly, and that was probably what Sammy was worried about; putting his shoes on too slowly for John's liking.

"Grab your jacket," Dean told his sibling, "It's kind of cold outside."

Sammy nodded and pulled the hand-me-down garment from the chair sitting at the scratched, ring-stained desk and pulled it on.

"Did Ms. Rosen teach you all how to do your zippers?" Dean asked and Sammy shook his head, his cheeks slightly red.

"Okay," the eight-year old smiled and zipped his brother's jacket up for him before putting on his own.

"Ready?" Dean asked and Sammy nodded, reaching out to take his hand.

Although John had the only room key, the door's locking mechanism was a deadbolt, which could be thumbed back from the inside. It was this that Dean grasped and turned, unlocking the door.

"We'll only go out for a few minutes," he reminded Sammy.

"Okay, Dean," the four-year old replied and followed his sibling out onto the sidewalk and waited patiently as Dean pulled the door shut, looking around to make sure no one had seen him leave the room without locking it.

Sammy held onto his brother's hand tightly as they stepped off the sidewalk and into the parking lot. He relied on Dean to get them safely to their destination because he old had eyes for the park itself.

It was a small park, across the street from the motel, situated on a corner lot flanked by a combination gas station and convenience store on its right and a tattoo parlour on its left. The park included a metal slide, a set of monkey bars and a row of six swings; three for infants and toddlers and three for older children. A single wooden bench sat facing the park where watchful mothers could rest and keep a close eye on their children.

The park itself was deserted at the moment although it was a mild autumn Sunday in late September. The sun was shining and the sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue.

Sammy followed Dean as he moved through the parking lot and then stepped back onto the sidewalk, making his way towards the crosswalk that would allow them to get to the park safely.

The four-year old watched carefully as the red hand on the pole across the street flashed a half-dozen times before it became steady and cars and trucks of all sizes and colours sped by them. After about a minutes and a half, the stream of vehicles slowed and finally came to a halt, the red hand on the pole changed to a white figure of a walking man and the brothers hurried across the street.

"I want this one!" Sam exclaimed as soon as his feet his the sidewalk on the far side of the street and he dashed towards a swing for older children.

"I don't know Sammy," Dean told him as the four-year old gripped the chains on either side of the swing tightly, "I think this one's too big for you."

Even though Sammy was in Kindergarten, he was small for his age and was often mistaken for a toddler instead of the four-year old he really was.

"Why don't I lift you into one of these swings?" Dean asked, reaching out to one of the blue plastic swings designed to cup the lower bodies of infants and toddlers placed into them, allowing their legs to dangle freely from two strategically placed holes.

Sammy looked at the swing Dean indicated and shook his head, sneering, "Those are for babies. I want to go on this one."

The eight-year old opened his mouth to argue with his brother but the look Sammy was giving him told Dean that if he even tried to sway him, he'd be in for one hell of a temper tantrum.

"Sure," Dean said, "Let me help you."

The older boy stepped up to the other side of the swing and held the chains tightly so the wide, flat piece of black rubber that served as a seat didn't move, "Okay, now you hold the chains too and lift your bum up until its on the swing."

Sammy giggled because his brother had said the word 'bum' but did as Dean asked and after a moment or two of careful maneuvering, and a well-timed jump, he made it onto the swing.

"Push me, Dean!" Sam demanded, grinning from ear to ear as he sat on the 'big kid' swing.

"Hold on tight!" the eight-year old told him and gave him a light push.

"More! Higher!" Sammy called, looking over his shoulder as he swung away from his sibling before moving swiftly back towards him again.

Dean obliged, careful not to push too hard on his brother's narrow back.

"Higher, Dean! Higher!" Sammy insisted, sounding breathless.

The four-year old loved the rushing sensation deep in his belly as the swing followed its trajectory back towards his brother; he loved the sight of the ground speeding past his feet, the sight of the side of the gas station coming ever closer before drawing back quickly.

"Higher! I wanna go higher!"

Sammy's small fists gripped the chains on either side of the swing as tightly as they could but with all the excitement of this new experience, his palms were becoming sweaty.

"Higher, Dean! High-"

Sammy felt the familiar rushing way down in his stomach, as though an invisible hand was pulling him backwards, and then suddenly his hands slid off of the chairs and he was falling.

"SAMMY!"

The four-year old landed hard on his hands and knees on the grass beneath the swing and screamed from fear and pain, not even hearing his brother shout his name.

"Sammy! Sammy!"

Strong, eight-year old hands grabbed Sammy's shoulders and pulled him up onto his knees. The little boy was crying, arms held out stiffly before him.

Dean peered down and saw that his brother had skinned his palms badly; blood oozed out between dirt, grit and bits of grass.

"It's okay, Sammy," he murmured, lifting his brother's pants to find that his knees were equally as raw and weepy, "It's just a little scrape."

Returning his gaze to his brother's face, he checked to make sure that Sammy hadn't hit his nose or his mouth or his forehead when he'd fallen.

"C'mon, let's go back to the room," Dean said and took hold of his sibling's wrist.

Sammy shook his head and refused to move.

"Can't, Dean," he insisted, "Can't."

"Sure you can," the eight-year old told him, "We'll get you inside and cleaned up, okay?"

"Can't go, Dean," Sammy cried, "It hurts."

The four-year old was staring down at his hands, the fingers trembling and Dean realized why his brother wouldn't move forward.

Moving so that he was standing in front of his sibling, Dean took hold of both of Sam's wrists, "Look at me, Sammy, okay? Not at your hands, not at your knees. Look at my face."

Slowly, the younger boy lifted his gaze from his wounded hands to stare with a hurt expression at his big brother.

"That's it," Dean smiled slightly, "Let's go inside now."

Sam followed the eight-year old as Dean walked backwards, making sure his brother's gaze remained on him and didn't drift back to his injuries.

The going was slow, no longer was the four-year old driven by excitement but eventually they made it back into the motel room.

Dean took Sammy into the bathroom and had him sit on the closed toilet lid while he carefully wiped away the blood and dirt from his hands and knees before applying Band-Aids.

During his brother's ministrations, Sammy had started to calm down, and by the end he was no longer crying. His face was puffy and blotchy, his eyes red-rimmed and moist and there was a trail of dried snot caked to his upper lip, but the four-year old seemed to have gotten over the worst of the traumatic experience.

"Thanks, Dean," Sammy muttered and kissed his brother on the cheek before carefully climbing off the toilet.

The eight-year old smiled as he gathered up the paper bits from the Band-Aids but the gravity of the situation was now making itself clear.

Dad's gonna kill me, Dean told himself as he left the bathroom to find his brother curled up in the bed they shared, his thumb carefully tucked into his mouth.

The boy sighed and raked a hand through his short hair. He knew there was no way to keep their little outing to the park a secret, not now with Sammy's hands and knees mummified in bandages. He knew John's word was law and to disobey it…

Dean stared at his brother for a long moment as Sammy fell asleep, a smile tugging at the corners of the younger boy's mouth.

…But it was worth it.

 **Author's Note:**

 **Here's another oneshot. I don't think I'm ready yet to keep going with my current Works-In-Progress but I will be very, very soon. I am just trying to get enough motivation to write them because I know if I write them while I don't have the desire… they won't be satisfactory.**

 **Please leave a review if you liked this story!**


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